The Will
by M H E Priest
Summary: Why exactly did Siler put O'Neill in his will?


**The Will**

Missing Scenes for:

_Red Sky (Season 5)_

_Reckoning, Part 2 (Season 8)_

Why exactly did Siler put O'Neill in his will? And what did he bequeath him?

***

Though the door to General O'Neill's office was open and the general was expecting him, Sergeant Siler halted at the threshold to see O'Neill, phone to ear, turned away from the door. Before he could knock, the general was already turning to face him. It was uncanny how impossible it seemed to sneak up on the former Black Ops man.

Jack O'Neill, without hanging up, waved Siler in. "Yes, sir, I'm fairly confident the Replicators got their proverbial asses kicked into Never-Never-Land. I'll get you the final report by 0800 Zulu. … Thank you, sir, but I can't take credit for this. I'll be recommending commendations for a number of personnel. … And I won't forget to give Kayla a big hug for you at the recital. … 'Bye, Gen—George."

Now that O'Neill had hung up the phone, Siler entered. He stopped in front of the desk, taking a parade rest stance. "Sir, reporting as ordered."

O'Neill frowned. "Relax, Siler, it's me, not the president." Glad to note Siler wasted no time in following his request, he leaned back in his chair to better see the NCO's face. "What's the status on the dead-bug roundup?"

"The four crews have almost every piece picked up and relocated to the holding tank. So far, we haven't detected any energy readings from the components. That will take about another two hours, General, until I can be sure they're all dead." Siler's lips grew into a small grin. "They checked in, sir, but they won't check out."

Jack stifled his own grin and decided to have some fun with Siler. "Are you comparing this facility, which houses a group of the finest military personnel our country and a few others have to offer all under _my_ command, to a _roach_ motel, Sergeant?" he asked with feigned anger.

"Uh, nuh-nuh-no, sir, I'm not. I—" Suddenly, Siler cut himself off. _Got me again, Jack_. "Well, yes, sir, I guess I am. But only in a good way."

"Good way taken, Airman. Colonel Carter should be finishing up with her plans to destroy those little ex-beasties, so report to her as soon as you've confirmed every single one of those suckers are doornails and get 'em off my base." O'Neill said the last few words with quiet vehemence. He took a deep breath to chase away the memories of the Russian sub and First's trodding through his brain. "Good work, Siler. Be sure to tell your details that for me, wouldja?"

"Yes, sir, I'll be sure do that. Is there anything else, sir?"

Jack hesitated, wondering if he should even ask the question that had been nagging him, much less if this was the right time and place to ask it. He decided to forge ahead and leaned forward. "Just one thing, Siler. Did you _really_ put me in your will?" he asked quietly.

Siler swallowed and cleared his throat to buy time to answer the question he had been expecting. He had blurted out that fact about his will in the heat of the moment, because he had sincerely thought his time was very short, and he had wanted General O'Neill to know how much he respected him. Now, being a man who usually kept his own counsel, though not to the extent O'Neill did, he was beginning to regret that near-deathbed confession. What could he say but…"Yes, sir. I did."

O'Neill was dumbfounded. He couldn't imagine why anyone would put him in a will. He had to know, so he pressed on. "When did you decide to do this?"

Siler flinched briefly, the old but still raw wound flaring within him. It was as if the catastrophe that had injured or killed SGC personnel had just happened yesterday. "A few years ago, sir, after K'Tau."

***

He thought his eardrums were going to rupture, but he quickly lost all concern about that when he couldn't breathe. Having his chest and arms pinned under a slab of concrete was not entirely bad, because the air was non-existent—instead it was smoke and fine particulates.

It was a couple of eternities that he lay there, hearing the shouts of his men and an SG team, feeling the heat increase at his feet, raging at his impotent paralysis, losing time with every drift into unconsciousness.

"Hey, Siler, you with me?"

He bobbed awake to the words and to the sharp but not quite painful smacks to his cheek. "Colonel?"

"Good man. Okay, we're getting you out of here."

Siler heard the colonel grunt, then yell as he felt the weight slowly, grindingly, painfully rise from his chest. As he took a deep breath for the first time since he'd been trapped, O'Neill fell across his chest. Siler coughed and cried out in pain as he felt a few ribs shift around.

O'Neill grimaced in empathy and muttered a quick "Sorry, Skippy" as he raised himself off Siler's torso. "'Gate's dialed, medics on the way. Hang in there." He grabbed Siler beneath his arms and dragged him several yards away.

Immediately, Siler's feet felt cooler. Soon, he began to drift in and out of consciousness again. Each time he was up, he could hear the colonel directing rescue efforts. Despite his haze of pain, he noticed that O'Neill called everyone by name, never by rank or the generic "airman." And it was obvious that the officer had brought efficient order—far superior to what he could've done—to the mass casualty situation.

***

Jack could still smell the seared flesh and whatever it was that passed for local explosives, could still hear the screams of pain and calls for help. He could still taste his failure in not finding all of Colbert and Tanner in the debris, for not posting guards. _Two more dead because of __my__ mistakes. Crap_. He stared at the pen—a gift from General Jumper on his promotion to brigadier general—on his desk. He controlled the sudden urge to throw the undeserved present away.

Siler couldn't read O'Neill's expression, which had gone stonily neutral, but he had known the officer for nearly a decade and knew this was one of his masks, knew that something pretty powerful was brewing beneath it. He waited, not sure whether he should leave or continue with his story.

O'Neill solved the dilemma for him. "So you put me in your will because of that clusterfu…?" He bit off the last part of the curse word. "For cryin' out loud, Siler, why the hell did you do that?"

Siler hesitated. What did one man of few words say to another of even fewer words when it came to the personal? What did one man say to another who had saved his life on K'Tau, as well as before and after that disaster, along with the rest of humanity more than a few times? As he searched desperately for the words, the conversation between Dr. Jackson and Teal'c he had overheard in the commissary a few days after the explosion replayed itself in his head.

***

"I don't think I've ever seen Jack so angry, Teal'c. He's always scared me at times, but this…this was really frightening. He was a hair trigger from killing Malchus, who was unarmed and pinned to the ground."

"Among my people, the killing of Malchus would have been considered the only action of consequence. O'Neill would have been expected to end Malchus's life. Indeed, if he had not, he would have been stoned to death. That is the preferred method for those unable or unwilling to perform their duty."

"But he's not Jaffa, Teal'c. Going as far as he did with that gun…well, that was not acceptable."

"Colonel O'Neill is a human of deep emotion and caring, DanielJackson. He feels much responsibility for those under his command. He is willing to suffer or die so that others will not, and when others do suffer or die, he believes he has failed in his duty."

"I know that, Teal'c. But that's no reason to go around murdering people, is it?"

"What Malchus orchestrated was an act of terrorism. One may argue that it was an act of war. O'Neill interpreted that action in a similar way. Neither one of us believes such an act should be ignored or unpunished. However, O'Neill chose to let the K'Tau live. Perhaps he realized that allowing Malchus to live with the knowledge of taking two innocent lives was the more appropriate retribution."

"I'm not sure that reason ever crossed Jack's mind."

"Perhaps then, DanielJackson, O'Neill showed the civilized trait of mercy. I know it to be both, though he would disagree and insist it was neither."

"You might have a point, Teal'c."

"Of this I am certain. GeneralHammond did not write the letters to the families of Captain Colbert and Sergeant Tanner. O'Neill wrote them instead, insisting that he was responsible for this duty, as he was responsible for their deaths."

"Oh."

***

Siler took a deep breath. "It's for what you did and didn't do, sir."

The twisting heaviness in his chest and gut worsened as Jack continued to relive that horrific fiasco. He sat calmly in his chair, fingers intertwined, and stared at a spot too close in his memory.

"Well, sir," Siler continued haltingly to break up the tense silence, "I realized that in spite of what all those men and women meant to you, you were able to do the right thing."

_Nope. Purely selfish reason for not blowing Malchus's brains out. Didn't want to see that fool's mug in my dreams along with all the others_._ And God help me, I wanted them all to burn—just like they burned my people._

The sergeant smiled meekly, his tongue uncharacteristically loosening. "I think maybe that's why we're alive today and we're not dead or some Goa'uld's slaves or hosts. Leaving you something in my will is my way of . . . thanking you, sir. And I figured you'd live longer than me, too, seeing how often you and SG-1 . . ." He stopped on seeing his CO's lips twitch. He wanted to kick himself for pouring salt in the wound of one of the people he admired most in the universe.

_Dammit, Daniel. You've come back before. Will you be back this time?_ After a brief moment, Jack said softly, "Thanks, Siler. That . . . means a lot." An instant later, he sat straight in the chair, signaling that it was back to business. "Okay, Sergeant, you can get back to Replicator disposal detail."

"Yes, sir."

As Siler turned to leave, Jack said, "See you at Andy's for poker Friday night, right?"

"Of course, sir. Wouldn't miss it."

Jack waited until he had almost lost sight of the technician before he rejected the self-imposed hold on his tongue. "Uh, one last thing, Siler."

He looked back over his shoulder. "Sir?"

"What did—are you leaving me?"

He replied solemnly, "My most prized possession, General—my big wrench."

The End


End file.
